In a quiet hermitage by the river Godavari, the sage Uddhava began teaching young Devala the first steps of the final climb.

"Come," he said, leading the boy into the little shrine room. It was dim and grey. "Tell me what you see through that window."

Devala squinted. "Almost nothing, master. The glass is grimy."

Uddhava handed him a soft cloth. "Then clean it." Devala rubbed and rubbed, and slowly the window cleared until the green riverbank and the white herons blazed through, bright and true.

"That," said Uddhava, "is the first step. The mind is a window between you and the truth. Year after year it gathers grime: old fears, lazy habits, half-true thoughts. The seeker wipes it clean with honest understanding, until what is real shines through without smudge. That is the clear, pure intellect."

Then the old man led Devala to the river path, where two heavy round stones lay beside the trail. "Pick them up," he said. "Both of them. Now walk with me up the hill."

Devala struggled along, sweating, the stones dragging at his arms. "Master, these are so heavy! I can barely lift my feet."

"Good," said Uddhava. "The first stone is called Liking. All day it whispers, 'I must have that sweet, that praise, that soft sound — give it to me.' The second stone is called Disliking. All day it grumbles, 'Take that away, I cannot bear it.' Most people carry both stones up every hill of their lives and wonder why the climb is so hard."

"May I put them down?" Devala asked.

"That is the whole lesson," the sage laughed. "Set them gently by the path. Not in anger, just let them go." Devala laid the stones down, and at once he felt so light he nearly floated up the slope.

"Now," said Uddhava, watching the boy almost dance up the hill, "with a clean window and empty hands, and your own self held steady, you are ready for the next step. The pull of the senses still calls, but it cannot drag you, for you have nothing left to grab it with."